Who Am I?
by Gloryscream
Summary: part the third- who can answer the question why when no on could answer the question who?
1. Part the First: Who Am I?

Who Am I?

A/N: Pure Rogue angsty-goodness. 

And, y'know, review. It's a one-shot, so, don't expect anything more.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Write about your past," the teacher said simply, "A memoir. Start at your early childhood, and write all significant memories. Fond ones, sad ones, confusing ones, and terrifying ones. You have three weeks, so I suggest you get started."

Write about where I grew up? Where did I grow up?

_With your mother and father, Dr. and Mrs. John Grey._

_In a variety of different foster homes after your parents and brother died._

Sad memories?

_"Sorry, Jeannie, but Grandma's with God now._

_"Oh, God, Kitty. He hit them head on… and died. Your boyfriend died in a drunk-driving accident! Why aren't you listening to me?_

_"Alex! Alex! No!"_

_"Demon! Creature from Hell! You are not human!"_

_"Wh-what just happened?"_

_"Evan, your twin…he wasn't wearing his helmet. His skull cracked severely. There was nothing they could do…No, God, no! It isn't your fault! Why are there holes in your clothes? Evan, what's going on?"_

Those couldn't be mine. I pressed my face into my palms, leaning my elbows on my desk. I was shaking. I couldn't tell… what memories were mine? Were any of them mine?

I told myself to think of happier things. And there were more flashes.

_"Yes, Jean, I'll go to junior prom with you."_

_"Hey, Kitty, you made the varsity volleyball team!"_

_"Scott, I can't stop those blasts from your eyes. But these will block them."_

_"Kurt, we'd like you to come and stay with us, if that's all right with you. No, we don't think you're a demon."_

_"I can help you control the beast in you."_

_"Evan, you made state! You're going to the state finals!"_

God… those aren't me, either. I searched my mind frantically for my memories. They were there, but I couldn't distinguish them from everyone else's. All the other students were writing quickly, pausing occasionally, and a few sometimes stopped to re-read and erase. No one had noticed that I couldn't write anything. It was really starting to freak me out.

"Ms. Manning?" I said to the teacher. She looked up from a book and sighed.

"Yes, Rogue, you may go to the bathroom." I nodded curtly at her and left swiftly, stalking through the school halls.

I made a sharp right around one corner and headed into the girls' bathroom. There I locked myself in one of the stalls and thought. I reached deep into my mind and tried to pull my memories apart from the others', but Kitty's memories and Kurt's and Evan's and everyone else's stuck like glue.

I went to school in California- no, I'm from somewhere else… Mississippi! Caldecott? Yes, that was it. And my parents were dead, and so was my brother, Alex, and the people there thought I was a demon- I groaned. This was pointless. For every fact I got about me, five of someone else's flashed through my mind. It was too hard to pry them apart. 

I walked out and decided that I'd ask the Professor for help. I turned the faucet to cold, and splashed some of the water on my face. And then more memories flashed through my head.

_He's dead, oh my God. He was drinking and driving, what's going on here?_

_I was born out of rape?! Why didn't anyone think to tell me!?_

_I just killed a man… but I didn't mean to!_

_They killed her. It's your fault. If you hadn't have stayed, then she would still be alive._

_I almost snapped her neck! I can't control it! Why do I let myself live!_

_That spike impaled her… she shouldn't have snuck up on me… No one can know! Take out the spike, calm down, it isn't your fault. It was a harmless accident- oh, God, there's so much blood…_

Shut up!" I screamed, gripping my head painfully. The screaming and memory-flashes in my head only went faster and louder. "Stop it!" I yelled hoarsely, my voice echoing in the small space. I was sent reeling, confused by the noise in my head.

My arm flew through one of the low windows, sending glass flying. Jagged edges ripped into my arm, tearing my sleeves. I sank down onto the floor, sobbing, and that was when I realized something.

There was only one way to get the voices to shut up.

I took a deep, steadying breath.

I would have to kill myself.

I couldn't slit my wrists with a piece of glass- it was too slow, someone could come in. I couldn't set myself on fire, either, if I wanted to get it done now.

I realized the voices weren't yelling at me because for once they agreed with me. They wanted me dead, too.

I cast a doubtful glance out the window. A fall at this height wouldn't kill me, just hurt me. Then I caught sight of a piece of glass that stuck out more than the rest. Then I knew what to do.

As I threw myself down on it, I realized what I was doing and screamed. But my scream was cut short by the glass cutting into my throat, blocking off all oxygen.

And then I died.

~~~~~~~

I have an idea for the sequel- Remy's at the school, looking to rob, and he sees the shattered glass. Checking it out, he finds the body. And then, maybe in the same one, or a third part, it's everyone reflecting on the death.

Loved it? Hated it? Questions? Comments? Suggestions? Rotten tomatoes? Review!

-The Tourniquet

"_Because there is no land of tolerance. Not here, nor anywhere else."- Magneto, X-Men: The Movie._


	2. Part the Second: Death of an Angel

Who Am I?

Part the Second

Death of an Angel

By The Tourniquet

A/N: Due to popular demand (just say no! to popular demand!), here's the second part. I'm going on the fact that Remy has empathy, because in the first part, Rogue doesn't mention talking to him. Here's another important bit: She somehow ended up using Jean's telepathy, purely by accident. Work with me here, it could happen. 

This part's told from Remy's POV, so… yeah. The reactions to her death will be in Part the Third Tee-hee. And, uh, Remy doesn't think with an accent. Get over it.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Even how Rogue committed suicide, that girl in "The Stand" did it the same way. Heh.

~~~~~~~~~

Magneto had sent me to the school that the X-Men attended. But as soon as I stepped through the door, I was hit by a tidal wave of emotions. It took a while to interpret them, because there were so many: anger, disgust, self-loathing, self-pity, loneliness, depression, hate, and sorrow. I tried to find out where they were coming from, and just went as they became stronger.

Another emotion hit me as I neared the girls' bathroom: fear. Feeling terrible emotions is bad enough, being hit by them is worse, but being hit by several at the same time? It's horrible. You can tell what emotions aren't yours, but knowing that someone feels those other emotions is enough to drive most people over the edge. I've learned to deal with it, but I've never been hit with this many terrible feelings at the same time.

I heard sobbing from in there, and made a decision. I had to go in there and talk to her. I swung open the door easily and quietly, and peered in. That X-Girl, the one with the white streaks, was huddled in a corner, sobbing.

"Shut up," she whispered, over and over, "Shut up. I'm not listening. Stop talking…" she cried harder every couple of seconds. Staggering to her feet, she leaned heavily on a wall. She jerked suddenly, and one arm crashed through a window, sending shards of glass outside. She sank to the floor again, and I didn't know what to do. I don't think she even noticed me. She'd looked right at me, though, but I wasn't sure she even was in control of her body.

She was sobbing on the ground, and I wanted to go and talk to her, help her, but I found I couldn't move. With deliberate slowness, she moved towards the window, and her sobs had ceased. She looked to the ground below, and saw no one. With a sinking feeling, I knew what she was going to do, but, again, I couldn't move. I wanted to stop this beautiful girl, this angel, from killing herself, but I'd lost control of my movements.

Before she threw herself down, a telepathic message flashed through my head. Memories of several different people, thrown together and turned into a kaleidoscope of sorrow. A voice, with a Southern accent and tinged heavily with fear, screamed in my mind.

(A/N: To clear things up: {Rogue} [Remy], and they're both italicized on purpose.)

_{Help meh!}_

_[What do y' wan' me t' do?]_

_{You can't save me, it's too late, they wanted me dead, it's the only way to get them to shut up!}_

_[Who?]_

_{The people Ah've absorbed, they're voices in mah head now. Jus'…tell them not ta cry. It's too late, you can't save me…}_

_[It's not too late! Just come wit' me, chere, I'll help y'!]_

_{Ah…don't know who you are. But Ah want ta trust ya. But, they scream so loud at meh, Ah can' take it anymore!}_

_[I understand.]_

_{Will you do me a favor?}_

_[Anyt'in' for a dyin' femme.]_

_{As Ah'm dying…kiss me. Ah've nevah touched…}_

_[I will.]_

_{Ya promise not ta laugh if Ah tell ya somethin'?}_

_[I won' laugh, p'tite.]_

_{Ah-Ah think Ah love ya.}_

_[Th' feelin's mutual.]_

_{Goodbye.}_

_[Don't…]_

And then she threw herself down on a jagged part of glass, and it pierced her throat. As she choked and died, I knelt down and kissed her softly. Blood pooled on the floor and slid down the outside of the window, and down the wall. I put my hand to her face. Her skin was cold. I stood up, and turned. The X-Men stood there.

"What did you do to her?" The leader, the one with the sunglasses said angrily to me. I looked him in the eye, or as well as I could with the hades, and spoke simply.

"De angel wanted t' die,"

"I know," the red-haired girl said simply, "I heard you… talking. There was nothing you could do." A brunette girl that looked to be only fourteen or fifteen looked at the body. Her hand flew to her mouth, and she looked like she was going to be sick.

"She tol' me t' tell y' not t' cry," I said. My voice was flat. I was numb. An angel had died. I could have stopped it, but I didn't. I had done nothing to save her. I should have, but I didn't. 

The brunette girl was crying, sobbing into the shoulder of the teleporting one, as he just stared. I knew without asking that his sorrow was beyond tears. I felt the same way. 

"You did what you could," the telepath said, and helped the rest out. But I knew that was a lie; I had done nothing, and a girl was dead because of it.

~~~~~~~~

I came to the funeral. I didn't tell anyone. I didn't even sit with the rest of them. I just stood at the back of the church, listening and watching. The brunette, Kitty, I found out, tried to say some words about her, but broke down before more than a few sentences could get out of her mouth. The teleporting mutant turned out to be her adopted brother, who said nothing. He was as dead as she was, silent, hardly breathing, staring straight ahead. I knew what he felt like, because I felt the same.

There was nothing to live for.

I visited her grave. They didn't know her name, or her age. She was seventeen or eighteen, but no one knew exactly. Beside the gravestone they'd had made, one from Mystique, her adopted mother lay. The one from her teammates read: 

We never knew her real name. To us, she was Rogue. She was always upset; her mutation prevented her from touching. But that didn't stop her from caring. She was a sister, a friend, a teammate, and a daughter. We will miss her dearly. Mystique's was covered. I couldn't bring myself to look at it.

I left, a silent shadow of a person. That happens when you watch an angel die and don't do a thing to stop it.

~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: I wrote this all in one sitting, listening to the songs: What It Is To Burn- twice in a row, I love that song- New Beginnings, Letters To You, and Post-Script. After months and months, my sister's fried FINALLY gave her back her Finch- What It Is To Burn CD. Anyways, I like how this came out. So review, damn you!

Loved it? Hated it? Liked it? Questions? Comments? Suggestions? Flames? Presents? Rotten tomatoes? Review!

Shout-Outs:

Weeble Wobble Chic: Well, Rogue isn't really making the decision. Think about it this way: She has all HER sorrow in her head. Every bad thing that's happened to her, every bad thing she's done. Now add all the bad things everyone she's ever absorbed has ever done, and everything bad that's ever happened to them. All that is bound to make you feel worthless, and this is before she's really talked to him.

UnknownSource: Yeah, sorry about that. I just wanted to make it clear Rogue didn't know as well. This isn't exactly a sequel, I couldn't come up with a new name. T.T Anyways, I appreciated your review.

Rynn Abhorsen: Yeah, check back for Part the Third to see everyone's reaction. It'll cover the X-Men, maybe a new Recruit or two, the B-Hood, Mystique, Remy, and maybe Irene. I hate Jean, so, yeah… If you want straight-up Jean-bashing, check out my story, Something To Sleep To. But the final part will have Jean bashing. Yay!

Trunks Ichijouji: Yeah, it popped into my head and would not go away. Glad you liked it. Did you like this installment as much? I'm really glad you think it's cool.

Ishandahalf: You wanted the Cajun, you got the Cajun. The reactions is next chapter, as I've stated. Your "holy angst, batman!" sent a semi-drunk person who was reading over my shoulder into a fit of laughter. Anyways, yeah, angst and stuff. 

Rogue14: Was this fast enough? And, wow, people liked it… I feel loved… Here you go. Part two. Wait for part three.

I think that's it…

-The Tourniquet


	3. Part the Third: Erstwhile Delight

Who Am I?

Part the Third

Erstwhile Delight

A/N: And we have part the third. Everyone's reaction. It's clearly labeled, to take away confusion. Here you go.

Please review.

Disclaimer: All I own is the plot-ness. And that's it. Everything else belongs to Marvel.

I am a normal American girl.

My name is Katharine Pryde. Everyone calls me Kitty. I play sports, I try my best in school, I hate math, my favorite color is pink, and my best friend committed suicide.

That is all I can think. My name is Kitty Pryde, I am a normal, all-American, Jewish, vegetarian, mall-loving teenager. And my best friend killed herself.

I am Kitty Pryde, a Jewish, vegetarian mutant. My best friend, also a mutant, killed herself.

She was the opposite of me: She was known only as Rogue, didn't play any sports, didn't care about school, her favorite colors were black, crimson, and dark green, and she committed suicide.

I never even knew her real name. None of us did. To us, she was only Rogue. We shared a room at the Institute. At first, we didn't like each other. We were… such radical opposites. I was the resident Valley Girl, she was known as 'the scary Goth girl' at school. But later, we became friends. Best friends.

And now she is dead.

I don't know why she killed herself. She had a brother- adopted, at least- at least one friend, and she had her whole life ahead of her. At least, we thought she did. Turns out she lived to be seventeen. We will never know if she could have changed the world.

I don't know why she did it, but that Cajun does. He doesn't talk. Neither does Kurt. I sobbed when we found her. Kurt…his sorrow was beyond tears. He could not cry. That Cajun may have felt the same, even though he works for Magneto and only really met her that day. I still can't complete that phrase. It's never going to be 'the day she killed herself'; it will always be 'that day'.

I want to ask him why she did it, but I'm afraid. Of what, you ask. Well, afraid that I may find out that her life was harder than any of us knew or wanted to know. That maybe she had a terrible secret. That maybe people had been cruel to her. I'm also afraid of finding out I could have stopped it. I'd rather wake up, wondering why she did it than stay awake all night, knowing I could have stopped it.

People tell me I'm so brave for returning to school so quickly. I think I'm a coward. The truth is, we didn't have any classes together. But we shared a room. I can't bring myself to go in there. I moved rooms, and now share with Jubilee. Jean had to get my stuff for me. Rogue's things are still in there, like some kind of shrine. The Cajun called her an angel.

At school, I can escape. At the Institute, every time I walk by a room, I'm hit by memories. It's too much to handle. School is safe. I have to get away.

I still wear all black. People wonder if I'm going to 'go Goth' and be like her. I don't know. Every morning, I wake up, have coffee, shower, and get dressed. In the Institute, I am a machine. No emotions, no individual feelings or thoughts. Black just always suits my moods. I never pay attention at school anymore. There is no point.

My best friend killed herself.

One day, I went into that bathroom. The got a new window. One day, a package showed up on my bed. I don't know who put it there, but it was the piece of glass that took her life. Whoever gave it to me somehow knew I wanted it. I didn't tell anyone about it. I keep them in a pouch-necklace that I always wear now.

Does this scare you? Well, you try finding your friend, impaled by her throat, on a piece of glass from the broken window of the girls' bathroom at school. _That's_ scary. All these people say the worst day of their life is the day their boyfriend broke up with them, etcetera, etcetera, and I wonder: How did I not realize how petty these girls are? Was I like that?

And I just don't know. The same thought just keeps running through my head: I am Kitty Pryde, an all-American, vegetarian, mutant girl. My best friend killed herself.

People whisper as I pass in the halls. I don't care. Nothing matters anymore.

For I am Kitty Pryde. I am an all-American girl. My favorite color is pink. I am a vegetarian. And my best friend killed herself.

Scott

I don't know why she did it. I don't think anyone knows. Sometimes I wonder if anyone wants to know. Kitty's changed. She is no longer the perky Valley Girl, mall-rat we used to know. She wears black. She speaks little, and when she does, her voice is quiet. She ignores everyone. You almost expect her to fall over dead.

She acts like she's dead, and I don't know what to tell her.

People always looked to me. I was the leader of the unbeatable X-Men. When people were upset, confused, I was who they turned to. I felt proud that I could be trusted. Now I'm glad that everyone is too numb to talk about it. I just don't know what to tell them.

I am eighteen years old. In my short life, I have fought more fights than most people twice my age, I have fallen in love, I have been hated, and I have seen a bloody corpse.

It isn't like in the movies. There's this horrible smell, and everywhere around the body smells like blood and death. It makes you want to vomit, and I would have. But people needed someone to be strong, a pillar of strength, and I must be that pillar.

The funeral was…so short. There wasn't much to say about her. None of us, except maybe the Professor, knew her real name. Mystique came. I didn't see or hear her, but Jean sensed her and told me. I always wonder, My God, did she even care about her, or did she just show to see if it was true? And then I feel like a terrible person. She lost a daughter. She'd only adopted Rogue, but legally, she was her mother.

Now the only family she has left is Kurt.

I normally would have been asked to say some words. I'm glad they didn't ask me. I may be a pillar of strength, but that pillar is crumbling, finally beginning to notice everything that it is responsible for.

I am nowhere near perfect. I will not claim to be. But I am the ideal boy-next-door. Do ideal boys-next-door join a team of mutants and fight other mutants? Maybe not. Do other boys-next-door have to come up with battle strategies on the spur of the moment? No. Do other boys-next-door become outcast because they are afraid to open their eyes? Certainly not. Are other boys-next-door always so confused when someone they know kills themselves?

I don't know.

I know she used to have a crush on me. I just didn't know what to make of it. I was confused, and desperate for Jean. I guess I still am. Is that disrespectful to the dead? Does it matter?

I never really acknowledged her. I can almost understand why she did it.

But I am a pillar of strength that slowly crumbles to the ground as my world falls apart.

Kurt

My sister is dead. My sister killed herself. She killed herself while a Cajun, one of our enemies, watched. Kitty cried. Scott knew he had to be reliable. I knew Jean wouldn't care much. My agony was beyond tears. If I cried, they would freeze on my cheeks. I am cold. I am so cold. Her skin was cold. They didn't have an open casket- her corpse was too bloody. No, I helped carry her out.

None of us had ever touched her skin long enough to register what it felt like. It was soft, and smooth, and so cold. It's terrible that only in death can she touch.

It's terrible that she's dead.

Kitty cries. Scott has no reaction. Jean doesn't care. Logan is only quieter now. Ororo is a silent woman now. The newer recruits are filled with shock. She was the first X-Man to die. I have not spoken to Xavier. I don't speak with anyone. I hardly breathe. I fear that if I breathe, my breath will form into little ice-crystals. I want to speak, but my breath freezes on my lips.

Kitty couldn't speak at the funeral. Neither could I. We have an unspoken agreement- we speak to no one unless necessary. We wear black. We ignore everyone. We slowly die to greet our fallen friend.

Everyone says that they're sorry. All the apologies in the world will not bring my sister back, I want to scream. But I don't. I stare straight ahead, and they move along, making small talk with people who never even knew she existed. Nobody cared enough to mourn except for us. But it doesn't matter.

Nobody has seen the Cajun. He has disappeared. But I know that in those few minutes he and Rouge were speaking, or communicating, or whatever, something happened. He changed. The Acolytes no longer challenge us. They do not fight, they do not mourn. They are the same as ever, except they respect our grief and do not bother us. For that I am grateful. I think that if they started a fight, I would kill them.

I don't know why I blame them. It isn't their fault. It was not murder. It was suicide. But there is a body, there are mourners. There are people who don't care. There are even some that celebrate her death because she was a mutant. I want to kill them, shove their throats into jagged pieces of glass. See if their friends and family find it funny.

Somebody scribbled something with spray paint on her locker: "Crazy mutie". It was scratched out and replaced with something in French. Someone, I don't know who, told me it meant "Fallen angel."

Amanda tries to understand, but she can't. She is an only child. But she is sympathetic and stands up for Rogue. I cannot. So she stands up for my sister for me. I want to scream at those people, 'Do you have no respect for the dead? It doesn't matter whether she's human or mutant, she is dead and we grieve!' But the words freeze in my throat and I can not speak.

My sister is dead. My girlfriend must defend her for I am cold, too cold.

I miss her. But I can not say this because I am cold, frozen with my sorrow.

Jean

I don't see why everyone's so weepy-weepy. Yeah, the bitch killed herself, there's nothing we can do, such a great tragedy(not!), can we please get on with out lives?

I mean, no one really even liked her except for Kurt and Kitty. And Logan was like a father to her, but that's it. I mean, she had like, no friends. No one cares. She killed herself. What's the big deal? We should have seen it coming.

I mean, there's one less self-pitying, Gothic bitch in the world. Right. That's a _good_ thing in my eyes, so why does everyone spaz out when people are all, "Ha! Mutie moron thought she'd live!'

Except she knew she was going to die. I listened to her mental conversation with the Cajun hottie. She loved him and crap like that, but she's dead. Let's just move on and pull Amara from the new recruits to take her place. I mean, she's dead.

I never liked her. Sure, I pretended to, but if I let everyone know what I really thought of her, that mental picture of me, the perfect girl, would be destroyed. If everyone thinks of me as perfect, then they'll never suspect that I never actually broke up with Duncan. They'll never suspect that I 'suggested' with telepathy to Taryn that she do that graffiti on Rogue's locker.

I walk by the bathroom and I see the blood stain, and the faint smell of blood and death still lingers. But people pretend that nothing happened in there. They have the right idea.

But nooooo, everyone's all "She died! Let us cry! Let us mourn! Let us be idiots who don't speak because we're finally free of her presence!" and I'm like, 'Do I have to keep up this charade?' I'll admit, I'm not trying too hard, but since everyone's so busy mourning, who's going to notice?

Maybe I'm being kind of vicious, but, the way I see it, she's dead and no amount of tears will bring her back, thank God!

I know Kitty has that piece of glass. I think they've all gone crazy. I mean, so what? People die. It happens.

I mean, I would understand them mourning if it were me that'd died. But it was just a Goth brat who thought she was too good to associate with us. She killed herself. So when people say, she wanted you to not cry, it's quite literal. She wants us to rejoice! So, let's respect the dead, eh?

But I still know, much as I hate to admit it, that our team will never be the same again. I just think it's going to be better now. She was like a leech, useless until she absorbed someone. It was annoying, having to watch her back. I wanted to slap her. If she had a _real_ power, then maybe she could actually _help_ on missions. Whatever.

It's literally in the past now.

So I say we all get on with our lives. Have someone take her place. Rejoice and be glad, for she is dead.

Logan

Stripes is dead. She killed herself. I can't believe it. It's going to take some time for it to settle in. She was the first of the X-Men to die. I would be lying if I said I don't miss her. Every time the team assembles, I keep looking for those distinctive white streaks. Every time I check the sign in list for the gym, I expect to see her name daily. But I don't.

Because she is gone.

I know Jean doesn't care, it would take an idiot not to notice that. Scott is confused because, for once in his life, he doesn't know how to be reliable. Kitty and Kurt are the traditional mourners, wearing black and hardly speaking. And I? I distance myself from everyone even more.

Everyone I care about is bound to die. It started with Stripes.

I don't know the gory detail about her death, and, frankly, I don't want to. She killed herself, we could have prevented it, that's all I need to know. No matter what anyone says, I will always blame myself. I should have noticed how quiet and depressed she'd become. I should have noticed how she was gradually distancing herself. But I didn't, and now she is dead.

I could have stopped it. I always tell myself that. I could have and I didn't. I don't know if that's true. I don't know why she did it. All I know is that sick son of a bitch, Edward Kelly, and scum like Sabretooth, get to live while someone like Rogue, who deserved anything but death, is six feet under, trapped in a casket.

Death is difficult to cope with. I know what it's like to be hurt, physically and emotionally, but this… this is new pain. I have never mourned. I become what I was when I first joined the X-Men- distant. I associate with no one. People do not find this odd because that is how I was. I don't know how to tell them what I really feel.

Rogue was… one of the emotionally stronger X-Men. She couldn't touch, but instead of moping around and insisting that her life was miserable, she became a sarcastic girl with a dark and twisted sense of humor.

A lot of people don't see the difference. I do, and I admire her for it. She never acted like life owed her everything because she couldn't touch. Either she was just tough, or a hell of a good actress.

I hate admitting my feelings. It's annoying, in my mind. In situations like this, my feelings should be obvious, But then there's people like Red, whom I obviously misjudged- and those humans at school that are so rude and cruel. I don't know how else to put it.

The Elf can't stand up for himself, and now that he has become a shell of a person, he can't stand up for his deceased sister. So his girlfriend does it for him. I admire her almost as much as I'd admired Rogue. But Rogue's dead now.

And I am left behind, a silent mourner amidst the weeping masses.

Lance

I never thought Rogue would be the first to die. I always thought- or, really, hoped- that it would be someone like Red or Shades. But they are alive and kickin'- pardon, kissing- and the Southerner is dead. Buried. Her story is over.

I don't know what to tell Kitty. She spends a lot of time with Kurt, and, even if he didn't have a girlfriend, I wouldn't have to worry. Romance is the last thing on either of their minds right now, and I understand.

People don't understand why I miss her. I'm not grieving and super-depressed like Kitty or anything, but I did live with her for a while. We sort of got along. And everyone deserves to be mourned. Well, almost everyone.

The others feel mostly the same. Even Pietro's upset, and he hasn't been upset recently. Mostly just insane, evil, and scared of Wanda. But her death just weirds us out, there's no denying it. And none of us talk about it. None of us deny it. We don't have to worry about school, because, well, because we got expelled because of a moment of insanity.

But Rogue is dead.

People go on with their lives. I can tell Kitty wants to scream, "A girl is dead because of this stupid discrimination! Don't you people care?" And I agree with her. But the truth is, very few people care. The Brotherhood cares. Even Wanda's a bit angry about this whole mess. Kitty, Kurt, Wolverine, some of the new X-Geeks, even Mystique, they care, but it isn't enough.

It is an unspoken rule that you do not talk about Rogue or her death. We tread carefully around the subject. If we talk about memories, we avoid memories that may have the slightest connection with her.

Who wants to talk about their ex-teammate who committed suicide?

Todd took it badly. As the youngest, he doesn't really know about this. Rogue is the second person I've known that killed themselves.

I can honestly say it doesn't get any easier to cope with.

Kitty wears a pouch necklace all the time now. I don't know what's in it.

One of the X-Men told me that the Cajun Acolyte was there when she killed herself. I wonder if he could have stopped it. Considering the fact that he left Magneto's team and no one knows where he is, I'd say he wonders, too. I never actually saw the body, but I knew it must have been bloody, because they didn't have an open casket.

I do know how she died.

I do know that there must have been a good reason. I just…

I just don't know what that reason was.

And she is dead.

A story ended recently, and there will be no sequel.

Mystique

My daughter is dead.

People will say that I should not be this upset, I did not give birth to her. But I have known her since she was young, I adopted her! She is- was- my daughter.

And she will never know how much I cared.

I wish I could have been there. If I had been a good mother and raised her myself and always been there for her instead of dumping her with Irene, she might not have done it. My daughter is dead. I want someone to blame, other than myself, but there is no one. She killed herself.

I could have prevented it.

I didn't.

That telepathic bitch who didn't care about Marie's death probably knew I had been at the funeral. I hoped she knew how miserable I was. She probably didn't. She probably made up some lie about how I'd come to start a fight.

Start a fight on the day of my daughter's funeral? I may not be the nicest person, but I am not that cold-hearted.

I look at the youngest X-Man and though I am no empath, I feel her pain. She cries. My son… like me, his grief is beyond tears. The Cajun… he was there when she died.

I want to blame him but I see the pain on his face, the indescribable sorrow, and I know that he could not have done a thing. I pity him, for he saw it happen. The others only saw her body. But I pity myself more because I should be able to speak some words, I should be the sobbing woman in the front row, but instead I am in a borrowed shape, lurking in the shadows.

I hate myself for being what I have become.

I hate myself for lying so much to my daughter. If I had been a good mother, would she have wanted to live? Had I not lied to her to keep her away from the X-Men, would she trust me? Had I not pretended to be her best friend, would she understand my pain?

Nobody understands my pain, and nobody ever will.

One of my children is buried in the hard ground, never to breathe or walk or speak or smile again. My other child hates me. I am alone.

I want my children, but one is dead and the other wishes I were dead.

Every night, I dream about what might have happened had I not been who I was.

But I can not change the past, and Marie is dead.

Tabitha

I've always kinda liked Rogue. She completely disregarded most forms of authority, and I knew she was beautiful. I admired her, I guess you could say. Even though she couldn't touch, she was always so… tough. I knew that she wanted to be able to touch, and if I could have made it so she could have, I would.

But now my feelings don't matter because she is dead.

It was a freakin' huge shock to me. I didn't see it coming. Or, maybe I should have, but I didn't want to. Does it matter? We can't go back in time and stop it from happening. Rogue, the toughest of us all, had killed herself.

For once in my life, I had to become serious. I didn't know how to deal with it, though. It was just so…creepy. I'm still glad I wasn't among those that found the body. I'm also glad I'm not the guy who watched her.

He thought that no one saw him, but I did. I also saw the look on his face, and I knew that it had been him that had written "Fallen Angel" in French on her locker. How could he be so in love with someone he'd never really had a conversation with, how could he love someone who was dead?

I pitied him more than anyone else, but I didn't go near him. I was scared because I recognized him as one of Magneto's lackeys. Or, ex-lackey, as I later found out.

Rogue. Is. Dead. I had to keep pounding the thought into my head. I just couldn't believe it. The X-Men were falling apart. Evan leaves, Rogue dies. I know the events are unconnected.

I wonder if Evan knows she's dead.

I wonder if he'd care.

People see me as the rebel without a cause. I had a shirt that said "Rebel Looking For a Cause." People didn't understand. Except Rogue. She understood the need to prove to those self-centered jerks that we don't have to do what they want.

I guess her life was just too much to take. Never being able to touch, the guy she's had a huge crush on for forever hooking up with the girl she hates the most, her best friend turning out to be her terrorist mutant adopted mother who had also lied to her on several occasions and forced her lackeys to attack her friends, knowing that most guys won't want to be with her because of her mutation, and all the other things I can't even guess at.

I wonder if she really had to take such desperate measures.

I wonder if we'll ever know.

Admittedly, Rogue and I were never friends or anything. I never said we were. I just said that she understood me. There was an unspoken agreement between us. I don't know what would have happened if I had tried harder to be her friend. Maybe knowing someone else cared about her would have stopped her from killing herself.

I want her back. I want my friend back. I want to make things right, to be closer friends with her and get to know the girl that only Kitty did. I want to turn back time and dash to the bathroom and stop her from doing it. I want so much.

But I know that even though those are the things I want the most, I will never get them. But I will live my life and do what Rogue no longer can- I will learn guitar like she did. I will live in Mississippi after I graduate. I will be who she could have been.

But I will mourn. I am no longer Tabitha Rose Smith. I am now Marie Tabitha Smith.

And I can no longer wear that shirt. I will make a new one, and it will say "Rebel With A Cause".

But I will weep because I have lost a friendship I never realized I could have had.

Remy

She's dead. I keep on telling myself that, but it will not sink in. She. Is. Dead. And. Gone. You. Could. Have. Saved. Her.

I left Magneto. I can not fight against the people who have had such a great loss, so recently. Even if we waited years, every time I looked at the brunette, I would see a sobbing teenager. Every time I looked at her brother, I would see a young man with depths of unspoken sorrow and grief in his eyes. I can not fight against those visions.

And so I left.

None of them know why she died. I don't know if I could explain it to them. But I know, and that fact weighs me down, slowly driving me insane, day by day. I do not know what to do.

People laugh. They do not care. One made fun of her. They do not understand the simple facts: A girl is dead. They did not kill her in the strictest sense, but they might as well have shoved the glass into her throat. I would tell them that, but the words are dead before they reach my lips. I am dead inside.

I breathe. I sleep. I am alive, but I feel so dull and dead inside.

I saw a girl die and I did not stop it.

I saw a girl kill herself and I did not stop it.

I saw a girl kill herself. I could have stopped it.

I could have saved her.

Had I not been an empath, I would not have been hit with that thrashing tornado of feelings. If those feelings hadn't struck me so strongly, I could have rushed to her side, save her life.

Had I not been who I am, she would still be alive.

But a tiny voice screams in my mind: If you had not been an empath, you never would have known where to go to listen to her. And then nobody would know why she did it.

And since I know, I will tell anyone that asks.

I do not know how to approach them, though. How to tell them why a teenage mutant killed herself suddenly. Or maybe it wasn't suddenly. I do not know the girl I love very well. She didn't even write a suicide letter, which led me to believe that it had been a spur of the moment thing.

I miss her already. I barely know her and I long to see her. Whenever I think of her, the only image that flashes through my head is of her impaled on that glass, the blood slowly seeping. Then I force myself to think of her before she killed herself, looking at me with green eyes filled with misery and fear, tears running down her pale cheeks, white steaks framing her elegantly shaped face.

And I think, how did a beautiful girl get cursed with poisonous skin?

They scribbled something on her locker the day after the funeral. Disgusted, I crossed out 'mutie freak' and wrote 'fallen angel' in French. I also took the piece of glass that killed her. I knew that her friend would want it, so I left it on her bed. I know she didn't throw it away. I'm glad I could help.

Because I couldn't save her friend's life.

I still can't sleep about that. I. Could. Have. Saved. Her. But I didn't. And I am filled with guilt, grief, sorrow, anguish, agony, and love.

How can you love someone that you handed a kinetically charged card to? Her arm could have been blown off. And she admitted to loving me as well. Amazing. And how can you love someone you just met? How can you love someone who's dead?

Because there is no denying it. She. Is. Dead. She. Killed. Herself.

They buried her. I visit her grave daily, almost as if I expect her to rise again. But I don't. I know she is dead and we can not bring her back.

I miss her.

The two of them, her brother and her friend, they wear all black. I wonder if they notice that I do the same. I wonder if they notice I'm still alive.

I wonder if I deserve to be alive.

Every day, when I wake up, I tell myself that she will never wake again. And I blame myself. Every time I breathe, I mentally scream that she will never breathe again. And I blame myself. Every time I see a couple kiss or hug, I mentally kick myself and remind myself that she will never get another kiss, she will never hug a boyfriend, she will never be married.

And I blame myself.

Because an angel has fallen, and I only have myself to blame.

A/N: HOLY MOTHER OF GOD, that killed me. You better like it kicks wall because I worked so hard on it.

Soundtrack: Linkin Park- "Breaking the Habit" Franz Ferdinand- "This Fire" The Alkaline Trio- "Blue in the Face"

Shout-Outs:

Ning Ning: Well, thank you. Depressing is my forte. But I appreciate the review. Much love.

Rynn Abhorsen: yeah… like, a year later, if you're still checking, here it is. Look, you got a bitchy Jean, what we both wanted. Yay us. Again, thanks for the review.

UnknownSource: Well, Kurt and Kitty, beyond devastation. Thanks for the compliment, 'well-written' are my favorite words when addressed at(to?) me.

Shadow of the Sword: …thank you?

Ishandahalf: Yeeeaaah, the bunny's not getting the crack. I must admit, I might-maybe have traded/sold/used it… no just kidding, this just took FOREVER because, well… I've never written in so many points-of-view in one chapter/installment/whatever.

It's done! Whew, finally…


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